Running with the Devil
by WhyAreAllThePenNamesTaken
Summary: At the end of The Angels Led Him Away, Deeks was dismissed from LAPD and Kensi learned the truth about Afghanistan. As they deal with the fallout, they also have to confront a new criminal empire as it takes shape in the shadows.
1. Drug Bust: Fallout

**So, this is the continuation of 'The Angels Led Him Away' where I nuked the status quo to see how it went. No additional nuking here, just playing in the radioactive sandbox I made.**

 **I got the title from an episode title from The Good Wife, though it's also a Van Halen song.**

 **This one is planned to be a long runner, divided into a number of 'episodes' each of which will be released in several "acts" because 7,000 word chapters scare me. Though the last one was supposed to have a super happy, Deeks becomes an agent, ending, so who knows.**

* * *

The Mission was bustling as ever, yet its centre was oddly silent. Agents Hanna, Callen and Blye all sat at their desks but the normal banter was gone. Though Sam and Callen still engaged with one another, Granger had heard them falter every time they attempted to draw Kensi Blye into their conversations. It was a credit to both men that they hadn't given up.

He walked past the bullpen and into Henrietta's office. "They're not improving."

"Give them time."

"They've had two months. Agent Blye needs a new partner."

"You really believe that now is a good time to give Miss Blye a new partner, especially after your last attempt." True enough, Brewer had looked good on paper and in the interviews, but as it turned out he was largely incapable of accepting responsibility for his mistakes. To say that this caused tension was a grave understatement. He'd lasted a week.

Even so. "There's never going to be a good time. Betrayals are like that. You're never ready to trust again. Eventually you just have to get back on the horse."

"If you hadn't told her like you did I could have managed it better."

"You had more than a year and I wasn't going to lie to her. She's Donny's little girl. He saved my life." And all that implied. He mentally turned back to business before he started wool gathering. "She can't work alone."

"I agree. She'll have to stay in office."

"Not an option," Granger said firmly, there was too much work to be done and benching Kensi would only serve to drive her further away from her co-workers and from NCIS. "Where are Nassir and Thompson?"

"Nassir is conducting a security review at Pendleton. Thompson has the currency theft case."

"Agent Jones then."

"I don't like the hole that leaves in Ops."

"You made do without an analyst for years before Nell came along. And you've made do without a psychologist for four years." Which looked more suspicious in light of recent revelations. An absence of mental stability in her agents would make it a hell of a lot easier for Henrietta to manipulate them, Granger reflected. He would need to make finding a replacement psychologist a priority.

Before Henrietta could raise an objection, the phone rang. She settled for raising the phone, but Granger reached over and pressed the speaker button. There was no way in hell he was letting Henrietta pull another fast one on him, which meant he needed all the information he could get and needed to be thinking twelve moves ahead.

He wasn't going to stop at petty tricks either. Every keystroke and syllable that went through the every NCIS office or an agent's phone or computer worldwide was recorded for counter-intelligence purposes. Granger had diverted the take from the LA office to a team that Vance had authorised. They were sorting through it and forwarding it to him. Just keeping up with the summaries was exhausting. Whatever her other faults, Henrietta kept on top of a phenomenal amount of work, more than her responsibilities really required, though she also had a security clearance that far outstripped that required by an office manager.

"Lange, you're on speaker with Assistant Dierector Granger."

"Miss Lange, Assistant Director, good morning. This is DEA Special Agent in Charge Hammond." The two parties dealt with pleasantries briefly. "We are working a case that's crossed into your world. In the spirit of cooperation I thought it best that our agents work the case together."

Henrietta looked at him over the desk enquiringly. Granger nodded in agreement. Interagency cooperation was always good and getting Callen's team into the field would be good for them until a more permanent solution could be found.

"We would be more than happy to assist, Agent Hammond," said Hetty.

"I'll send you the casework."

Granger got up and walked to the bullpen. Who was he kidding. He was building a case against Henrietta Lange, not one that would ever see the inside of a court of law, but a case all the same.

Agent Callen, your team has a show the flag with DEA, get down to the boatshed for a briefing."

"Why us?"

"NCIS's mission includes cross border drug enforcement for one, Agent Callen. Two, you have no active cases currently."

"And three?"

Hetty had apparently walked up behind him. "Three, Mr Callen, is that you know the lead agent." He hated it when she did that.

* * *

The four DEA agents were waiting at the boat shed when the team arrived. The introductions were brief. Peterson, Jacobson, Robertson and their boss, Supervisory Agent Talia Del Campo, who made a puzzled face at the team's reduced size. Sam made a quick throat cutting gesture and Talia swallowed her questions whole.

"Congratulations on the promotion," Callen said.

"Well you do a good job for long enough and the bosses decide that you should do something else."

"What have we got?"

"We know it's a Navy supply ship between Naval Base Ventura County and Afghanistan, we know there's a load of 90% pure Afghani Heroin coming in this week, and we know that one of the crew is Matthew Johnson. Peterson scoped him picking up the gear in Islamabad."

"Seems like you know the who, the what the how, and the when. What do you need us for?"

"What we don't know is the who else. Both on the Venture Star and who their purchaser is.

"How much heroin?"

"40 kilos, street value of nearly $5 million."

"Not much."

"In most places, Agent Blye, 40 kilos is a lot of heroin."

"7 tonnes of pure heroin are consumed in the LA metro area every year." Kensi said. Sam and Callen shared a smirk. Wikipedia.

"40 kilos is still a lot of heroin. Not to mention its a line."

"A line?" Callen asked.

"Sorry, I've been working with some Brits. A way to smuggle drugs into the country. We shut it down, we slow the flow."

"From a torrent to a mere flood." Kensis tone had changed to openly hostile. Even the three 'sons noticed.

"Ok, What the hell is up with you this morning?"

Maybe I'd rather not sweep leaves on a windy day."

Callen decided to step in before things got contentious. "Kensi enough. Come with me."

"If you don't want to do this then you are more than welcome to head back to the Mission and do all our paperwork."

"Forgive me Callen, when you're sent halfway round the world as a pawn in your boss's game, you can tell me how to behave, but until then."

"Taking it out on Talia isn't going to change what happened."

"Maybe I'm just tired of being used. There is no reason for us to work this case, so its either Granger's bureaucratic back scratching or worse, another of Hetty's games. But we don't have a choice, so let's just get it over with."

"You could always transfer."

"We both know I'd probably wind up assigned to Ice Station Zebra."

"I doubt that Granger would do that."

"Yeah, but Hetty probably would."

"You really don't trust her anymore."

"If she did to you what she did to me, would you?"

Callen couldn't disagree. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Deeks was driving with his new partner – co-worker, he mentally corrected himself – Juan Alvarez, in a Lexus. Admittedly, it was a work car, but still, it was a Lexus. There was another parked directly behind them, containing two other guys who would serve as their back up. He was armed, a 9mm Sig, but that was all he expected to need. Besides, a rifle was too cumbersome and sub-machine guns were against company policy. And California law, seeing as they were here for legitimate work.

Deeks guided the Lexus into a parking space and hopped out, acompanied by Alvarez and theie compatriots from the follow car, who took up positions at either end of the motorcade, while Deeks and Alvarez headed a few yards down the street.

Their boss, Graeme Partridge had come back from Iraq after Gulf I and gone into business as a stand over man, enforcing debts for loan sharks and bookmakers. After a few years of that work, he opened his own loan sharking operation, but made the mistake of doing his own dirty work. In 1995 he'd been convicted of aggravated battery, sentenced to two years, and while in prison, met Roger Thornhill, snr.

From there he'd become a mid-level debt collector/shooter for Thornhill's crew, eventually rising to oversee a crew of soldiers. When the elder Thornhill had died in a hail of bullets, Partridge had briefly served under Roger Thornhill jnr before the latter had gone to prison.

In the two years since, Partridge had apparently reinvented himself as the head of Private Investigations and Security, which provided services from mall security and find out whether your husband is sleeping with your best friend to political black bag jobs and marijuana cash holding.

Which was where Deeks – or Max Gentry more correctly – came in, picking up the cash from the dispensaries to deliver to the fortified warehouse in Long Beach that housed the cash in exchange for a 10% cut. He knocked on the door of the dispensary. The owner was waiting and let them in, a quick count and a signed invoice and they were out again.

On the bright side, he wasn't one of the guys whose job it was to stand around on the off chance that some absurdly stupid individual decided to commit suicide by trying to rob the place. On the downside, it was a pity that Max didn't have any experience as an investigator.

Not that it would have made much difference, he got the sense that despite his relatively good assignment, he was outside the circle of trust. He was also pretty sure he was being followed. Which meant staying away from Kensi, he known that going in. He needed this job and he was prepared to make the sacrifice.

Deeks was aware that there were other parts of the operation. Like the guys who were running a surveillance operation out of a room in the warehouse. Or the crew that did something that required them to go out with drilling equipment at night and come back with bags filled with something. There had been a string of jewelry store robberies lately. Still a detective.

Beyond that, he'd learned very little in the two months since he had started work at Private (for some reason, they never used the acronym). That was fine. If three years in undercover had taught him anything, it was to be patient. Thornhill would either trust him enough to bring him in, or he wouldn't. Some big play to force Thornhill into a decision was far more likely to backfire than to achieve its aim. In the meantime, he had a delivery to make.


	2. Drug Bust: Meeting

**A/N: for some reason the first scene (which was originally going to be Callen and Sam) just refused to come out, even though I'd written everything else.  
**

* * *

Nell was silent as Kensi parked the SRX in front of the Master at Arms building at Naval Base Ventura County. She'd tried to engage the brunette in conversation, but Kensi was focused on driving, or more precisely, shutting out anything that wasn't work related.

They'd decided not to go to Mazzuno's CO and shipmates. A pair of NCIS agents asking questions or even hanging around could have Mazzuno and his partners, if any, dumping the drugs and going to ground, eliminating any chance of identifying their clients.

The office was well staffed but not particularly busy at the moment. Nell supposed they saw more action when the pilots at Mugu and the longshoreman and seabees at Port Hueneme kicked back at the end of the day.

The two female agents walked over to the receptionist. "Master Chief Petty Officer Rawls is expecting us." The Petty Officer pointed them towards a man in his 40s with two stars topping his sleeve insignia.

They walked over and after introductions were exchanged, briefed the Chief on the case.

"Mazzuno huh, you'll want Costa." Rawls pecked at his keyboard, muttering "I still cannot type," as he did so.

"You seem pretty sure." Finally, Rawls succeeded in his aim and turned the screen around to show them a picture of Costa, which was supplemented by a relatively long list of charges for minor crimes.

"Mazzuno and Costa have always been thick as thieves, nothing really serious. Their last arrest was for a bar fight Mazzuno picked with some marines. Costa stepped in to help out his buddy."

"That's the spirit," said Kensi.

"Anyone else?" Nell asked.

"Not close, and not to tell you your job ma'am, you'd want to keep something like that to as few people as possible. There's not a lot to do aboard ship but talk. The fewer people who know, the less likely it is that someone will say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Costa's smart enough to know that at least."

"Do either of them have a vehicle?" Kensi asked.

Rawls pecked at his keyboard some more until he found the base vehicle logs.

"Costa doesn't. Mazzuno owns a black jeep." He gave them the plate number and its space while Mazzuno wasn't in base housing. "Mazzuno and Costa are due to check out for a two day leave in less than an hour. Do you want me to put that on hold?"

"No, let's not do anything to spook them."

"I'll call the gates, make sure there's no random search of the jeep."

"Thanks Master Chief."

"Any time ma'am."

The two agents drove to the parking structure. Nell reached into the back seat to grab a real time tracking kit.

"I've got it," said Kensi. Nell wasn't going to fight her.

After a few minutes, Nell saw Mazzuno walking towards his car, carrying a large gym bag.

"Kensi, Mazzuno's coming."

"I'm almost done."

Nell hesitated, trying to decide what to do. She couldn't allow Maazuno to proceed, or he would see Kensi and her gear lying next to his car. Confronting Mazzuno would blow their cover. Then she saw the steering wheel. She pressed once on the horn. Mazzuno looked in her direction, but she was already leaning down into the passenger seat.

"All done." Kensi said. Nell breathed a sigh of relief.

Mazzuno placed his bag in the trunk of his car and drove off.

Kensi got back into the driver's seat. "Nice work with the distraction."

"It was nothing."

"It was quick thinking, don't sell yourself short." Kensi closed her eyes and sighed. "I meant-."

Nell smiled. "I know what you meant." Nell picked up the camera from its place at her feet. "Now don't let him get away."

* * *

Deeks was riding his motorcycle. One of the few benefits of losing a job he'd come to love was that Henrietta Lange no longer controlled his life. As he turned a corner, he looked back. Sure enough, the same car was still following him.

He drove around the block again, checking at each corner. They weren't cops. They'd have broken off at such a basic counter-surveillance tactic, preferring to reacquire later. Obviously less experienced.

He rode down through a series of random turns before speeding up, then quickly turning into an alley. He parked his motorcycle behind a dumpster, dismounted and drew a collapsible baton before crouching down. The surveillance car drove by. Deeks stood up and smashed the driver's side window. Then he drew his pistol, an unregistered one he kept for when he wasn't at work, and leaned in the window, making sure to cover both occupants.

"License and registration please." He said to the driver.

"How about fuck you." Clearly not a co-operative guy.

"Who do you work for?"

"Your mother, I just got done three-waying her and your sister." Max screamed in his ear to open the door and pummel the man senseless. The more rational part of his mind said that was a bad idea, no matter how immediately satisfying it would be, at least until he had more information. He settled for slamming his fist on the door. "NAME."

The man said, "why don't you ask your boss."

Deeks drew the knife he kept in his belt and buried it in the front and rear driver's side tyres. Then he got back on his motorcycle and headed off. He called Partridge. "I need to see him."

"So I've heard. You know where Rick's is?"

"Everybody goes to Rick's."

"Meet me there."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Deeks walked into Rick's. Thornhill, Partridge and another man in a waiter's outfit were seated at a table. Thornhill and Partridge rose as he walked in. Partridge moved his hand behind his back, probably reaching for a pistol but Thornhill did nothing other than extend his hand. A token of respect, perhaps. He hadn't spent enough time with the guy to really know him. Either way, he was shaking before he knew what was happening. It had an oddly calming effect.

"Mr Gentry. Please sit. I don't believe you know Alain Charnier, he works here, and also for me," he said, with particular emphasis on the last part. Apparently Alain was inside the circle of trust.

Deeks nodded to the Frenchman but decided to get to the point."You're having me followed."

"How do you know it was us and not the police?"

"I've been followed by cops before. This was different. And you haven't answered my question."

Ernest turned to Partridge. "Good instincts." He turned back to Deeks. "Yes, my men were following you. Before you lose your cool. We were checking you out, we check everybody out."

"I thought you wouldn't need to after what I did for you."

"Saving my life buys you my eternal gratitude, not my trust. I have never made an exception for anyone and I'm not going to start now. You may not like it but this is not heaven, this is the world and there are troubles in it."

"I thought you were nice."

"I'm polite, not nice."

"Fine, but I don't like being followed."

"Then you will be happy to know that that's over." Deeks relaxed internally, even as he suppressed the external signs. They were letting him in.

"Oh?"

"For starters, there's clearly no point now. And I'm satisfied that you're not a cop. And I need you your expertise on a job."

"My expertise?"

"Your experience. Something many of us lack, when my brother was sent away, a lot of people went with him." Funny phrase, sent away. Poor phone discipline had landed Roger Thornhill twenty years in prison for conspiracy to distribute.

"I don't exactly have a lot of experience moving drugs."

"You're job isn't to test or sell the product, that's Alain's end, but unlike him you've dealt with the higher end of the criminals before, I want you there to back him up and make sure it looks right. If it is, Alain will make the final arrangements, but if you think something is wrong, just walk away."

"Alright."

"If you have any concerns, now's the time."

"Do you know these guys?"

"They've been checked out. As have the people on the other end. They own about twenty tanks, believe it or not, reasonable guys though." Thornhill had been to Afghanistan himself, Frank Lucas-style.

"The product?"

"Afghani heroin. 40 kilos, 90% pure. We buy for fifteen grand a kilo, knock it into 60 kilos and then sell them for twenty grand each."

"Where's the meet?"

"Parking building on Castro. 4pm tomorrow. Pickup for the gear will be in the day after."

* * *

Sam and Callen were sitting in the Challenger. Callen sucking on a lollipop. Sam was making small origami swans. Talia and Peterson were at the other end of the block. Robertson, Jameson, Kensi and Nell were watching the other entrance. They had followed Mazzuno's car as he picked up Costa and then to a parking structure in East Hollywood.

A tall man, blonde hair on the long side, surfer's build in a leather jacket and jeans rode up on a motorcycle, followed closely by a Prius, and drove into the parking structure.

"Was that?" Talia asked.

"No it wasn't," said Callen

"I'm pretty sure it was."

"It wasn't," said Sam.

"Was what who?" Kensi asked.

"The buyers might be here," said Callen.

"Callen and I will go in," said Talia. "The rest of you be ready to follow when they come out."

Callen and Talia headed into the structure.

"Talk to me Eric."

"Third floor, northwest corner."

When the pair spotted the meeting, Talia pulled out a directional microphone.

* * *

Deeks tried to keep an eye on the two navy men. Both were armed, but on the other hand they were also store clerks, not a lot of actual combat experience. They weren't going to be a problem. Though they might try something stupid.

"You have the product?"

The taller man popped the trunk. Inside was a large gym bag with forty kilos of heroin inside.

Deeks took another look at the men, trying to get a read on them. Nothing seemed out of place, they were nervous, but there was no apparent deception. Either they were honest or very good liars. "We're good," said Deeks.

Alain stepped forward and pulled a knife. Both navy men pulled pistols and Deeks pulled one himself. He could get them both, probably before one of them shot Alain, but then the line would be dead, not a good first day.

Alain realised what he'd done. "I'm just going to take a sample from one of the bricks."

The two navy men relaxed slightly. "You could have said so."

"Yeah well, I didn't, so put the guns away, alright."

"Your buddy first."

Deeks debated his decision for a second, but there was nothing to be gained by upping the confrontation. So he holstered his pistol. The two navy men reciprocated.

Alain spiked a small sample from one of the bricks, then dropped it into a small vial that he pulled from a jacket pocket. He pulled a small roll of tape from another pocket and sealed the hole. He mixed a small amount of reagent into the vial, shook it, and nodded in satisfaction when it turned a deep blue.

"90% pure, as promised," said the shorter navy man.

Alain nodded. "We'll make the exchange at 2pm in Northridge." Alain gave then the rest of the address.

"Not now?"

"I wasn't going to bring $200,000 to a meeting with people I'd never met."

"You try to screw us..."

"We're both going to get what we want, forgive me for being cautious."

"We'll see."

Deeks and Alain headed back towards their vehicles. "I really don't understand why you drive that thing." Deeks said, pointing at the Prius.

"It's the most common car in the state. What I don't understand is why you drive a contraption that not only sticks out like a sore thumb but if you come off it, you'll be paralysed, if you're lucky."

"The wind in my hair."

"You wear a helmet."

"Details, you've never wanted to ride raw American power?"

"That's why I have the Mustang."

* * *

Talia and Callen beat a hasty retreat downstairs as the meeting broke up.

The pair got into their respective cars. Nell, Kensi, Robertson, and Jameson headed off after Mazzuno and Costa. Sam put the challenger in gear and followed Deeks and the Frenchman in the Prius.

The two cars split paths. Sam and Callen followed Deeks.

Deeks stopped at some lights and Sam and Callen stopped two cars back. A Prius drove through the intersection, followed by Talia and her partner.

"Talia break off right now," said Sam.

"Why?"

"They're using counter-surveillance."

Sam turned to Callen. "Good to know he listened, I suppose."

"What do you think he's doing?"

"I don't know, maybe he's doing his own thing, maybe Bates is still using him."

"You don't waste good," Callen agreed. "When this case is over, we need to find out."

Sam nodded.

* * *

They rendezvoused with Talia a few blocks from the boat shed.

"You want to tell me what that was all about? Why didn't you tell me that Deeks was undercover with these guys?"

"We didn't know he was."

"He went back to LAPD?" Talia asked.

"Not exactly," Callen said. Talia quirked an eyebrow.

"You remember Detective Jonas Hodges?" Sam asked.

Talia frowned. "Corrupt cop, brought in for murder, money laundering, robbery a couple of months ago."

"Eight years ago, Deeks was part of his crew," said Sam. Talia's face went through all the various permutations of surprise.

"Yeah, that was our response too," said Callen.

"Why isn't Deeks in bracelets? Hell, why isn't he on trial?"

"The bosses didn't want to burn all the good cases Deeks had worked in the eight years since or the bosses who rose high in the interim."

"So they went trawling through the General Orders to find something else to fire him for," said Talia.

"Yeah," said Sam.

"And you're protecting him?"

"The man was tortured rather than give up my wife, so we didn't see him, and neither did you, or your guys," said Sam.

"And Kensi never knows," said Callen.

Talia nodded. "I'll pass it along. They together?"

"They were."

"And now?"

"I'm not so sure."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Talia before getting in to her car to head back to the office.

Callen turned to Sam. "Did that mean what I think it meant?"

"Who knows?"

* * *

Deeks, Alain and Thornhill were sitting together at a table in Rick's, discussing the finer points of basketball while several other patrons, all, Deeks had been told, members of Thornhill's crew, sat and drank and talked at various tables. They were interrupted when Graeme Partridge came into the bar. "The DEA knows about the line."

"How?"

"Don't know, but my guy says they're working with people from something called NCIS."

Thornhill raised his eyebrows. "I've never heard of them."

"I haven't heard of them either," said Partridge.

Thornhill turned to Deeks. "Have you heard of them?" Deeks shook his head. Sam and Callen were going to be pissed when they heard about this.

Thornhill turned to the others assembled in the room. "Would somebody please google NCIS?"

One of the men tapped away at a laptop. "Here we go, National Criminal Intelligence Service. They're British."

Alain looked at Partridge. "What the hell have we done to piss off the Brits?" Deeks could barely suppress his grin.

"Oh wait there's something else. Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Originally Navy, spun off as a civilian agency after the Tailhook scandal, responsible for investigating crimes involving Naval and Marine personnel."

"Oh, well that makes more sense," said Alain.

"We're going to need a new plan," said Thornhill.

"The DEA will have the courier's phones tapped by now," said Partridge.

"If they were the way in."

"They were."

"Then there's nothing we can do and they're not our people. We've got to look at the whole board. What could the DEA conceivably know about us."

"They could have seen me and Max meet with the couriers."

"They might come after you."

"If they don't have the drugs, then what do they have? Two guys talking smack in a parking lot."

"We'll need to check that with Bob, but either way we need to keep the drugs away from the DEA."

The men spent the next few hours making plans. When they were done, Ernest sat back in his chair. "Max, you'll run point on this."

"Me?"

"Him?" Partridge said.

Ernest turned to Partridge, pulled up close, Deeks could barely make out what was said but it sounded like "If he screws this up, we'll know." Then he turned back to the group. "Go home, get some sleep, we'll let our guys know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Deeks finished his drink and headed out.

* * *

Peterson and Jameson were watching the Navy men. The men went to a bar near the base, brought several rounds for everyone present and generally drew attention to themselves as much as possible. There was so much going on and the women who fawned over the sailors so obviously what was expected that neither of the two DEA agents noticed one of those women slip a cellphone into Mazzuno's pants pocket, nor did they see grizzled old Graeme Partridge sitting in the back of the bar, watching the proceedings with steely blue eyes.

* * *

Once Deeks got back to his apartment, he went into the bathroom, pulled a plastic wrapped phone out of the cistern and sent a text.

* * *

 **A/N: so what's Deeks' up to? I promise to reveal all, eventually. Assuming I'm subtle enough that you haven't figured it out already.**


	3. Drug Bust: Busted

Kensi walked into the boatshed with more of a spring in her step.

"You're in a good mood this morning."

"What do you mean?" Kensi attempted to bury her happiness, no, satisfaction, and failed utterly.

"You have you're 'I just got laid' swagger going on. Is Deeks back in town?"

"This is all going to go pear-shaped," said Kensi, neatly avoiding the question. Callen decided to let it go. Kensi was entitled to her secrets.

"What makes you think that?"

"Tip from a CI. One of the couriers is all paranoid, thinks he's being followed." If Kensi had a CI why didn't she mention it the day before.

"That's it? Somehow I doubt Talia is going to respond well, given your little sweeping leaves moment yesterday. Especially if you can't wipe that smirk off your face."

Kensi's face dropped into a blank mask, but then the corners of her mouth rose and there was apparently nothing she could do about the glimmer in her eyes.

"You're not going to tell her."

"No point."

"So I'm not the only one with a winning personality."

"Let's just say there's a bone of contention and leave it at that."

"Fine, I'll do it. But this goes up in smoke and I get to say I told you so."

Kensi walked over to Talia."I'm sorry about yesterday. I was having some work frustration and I took it out on you, which wasn't fair. It won't happen again."

"Apology accepted."

Robertson looked at them. "That's it?"

"This isn't high school, we're adults. Kensi was a bitch, she repented. If she does it again we'll have a problem but until then how about we all act like the professionals we are."

"Yes boss," said Jameson, nudging his colleague with his shoulder.

"Yes boss," said Robertson.

"There's one other thing. I have a CI who's close to Costa. He says he was acting paranoid."

"Didn't seem that way last night," said Peterson.

"I think we could have a problem."

"I think you're being paranoid," said Peterson.

"Cool it," said Talia. "Best we err on the side of caution. I'll have LAPD standing by for backup. You think that will be enough?" She asked Kensi.

"It's overkill," said Peterson.

"I understand your position Peterson, but it's my call." Talia said firmly.

"It's fine," said Kensi. "What's the plan?"

* * *

Sam, Callen, Kensi, Nell, Talia, and the 'sons had all been sitting for more than two hours when the bagmen showed up, half an hour early. The plan was to follow the distributor's bagmen back to their boss and build a case against the distributor as well. The couriers would keep, after all they knew exactly where they would be.

The Frenchman, who may or may not have been the distributor, arrived an hour before the bagmen. He trawled the block twice, peering into cars and looking at the cameras, even disabling one that pointed directly at the meeting place. Fortunately, only Peterson and Jameson were on the block, watching from a rooftop. The rest were parked a block away, with their LAPD backup - organised by Talia - on standby in case things went sideways.

The bagmen wandered up and down the street until Mazzuno and Costa arrived, five minutes after the designated time.

A few words were exchanged. Then the bagmen and the couriers exchanged bags and the two sailors drove off. The bag men separated instantly, two heading for each end of the street before again going their separate ways.

* * *

"Okay guys, let's give them a few minutes to bed in the tails, don't want them to miss the show." Four cellphones were laid out on the table in front of Deeks. There was a map of Los Angeles taped to the wall in front of him, next to a list composed of two columns of numbers. He had a police radio hooked to his left ear and Ernest and Partridge were sitting to his right, sharing a box of popcorn.

The bagmen walked for a few minutes. The speaker in Deeks' ear crackled. "Tails are in place. Do you want us to follow the sailors?" LAPD getting confirmation on the record. Focusing on avoiding being blamed for failure was smart practice, so long as you didn't care about succeeding.

"No, we know where they're going," said a female voice, Talia Del Campo. Small world. He felt bad for what was hopefully about to happen, but her op had been blown when Partridge's source had talked. He leaned forward slightly so that his voice would be picked up by all four cell phones."Alright guys. Now."

* * *

The bagman broke into a run. Callen cursed, they'd been made. He wasn't sure how, but he knew they would catch hell for it. Then Kensi's voice came over the radio. "Our guy is rabbiting."

"Ours too," said Talia.

"So is ours," said Robertson.

Callen and Sam chased the bagman, even as Talia started calling in the LAPD backup and the onsite commander called in more units.

They ran north, along alleyways and across streets, dodging amongst the cars. Whatever else these kids were, they were fit.

" Unit 76, head east on Ford, cut him off."

* * *

"Heading north on James," said Kyle, the bagman that G and Sam were chasing.

Deeks looked at the map, quickly determining where Kyle, the LAPD and G Callen were to each other.

He picked up the centre-left phone. "Kyle, head right into the next alley."

* * *

The bagman broke right into an alley, neatly avoiding the trap G had laid.

They continued running through several different streets. This time Callen directed two units to intercept on different streets. But again the bagman broke through the box, taking routes perfectly designed to slip him through LAPD's net. It couldn't be just luck.

"They're listening in to the radios, switch channels," said Callen.

* * *

"Switch to channel 8," said another voice. Deeks looked at the list next to the map, radio channels for LAPD courtesy of one of Partridge's guys, and adjusted his own radio accordingly. The voices came back straight away.

He listened to Kensi shout her position.

"Thomas turn left onto Park."

* * *

Granger stood in Ops listening to the joint operation turn rapidly into a nightmare. "They're still listening into the radios." At this point, even if they caught the couriers and everyone else, it was going to be a witch hunt, at best.

"They must have LAPD's channel codes." Granger turned to Eric. "Crash the cell network, now."

"Are you insane?"

"You're the one who broke the internet."

"That took sixteen hours to fix and the internet doesn't carry 911 calls."

"Just do it, Mr Beale," Henrietta said.

"Fine, but I'm whitelisting 911." He started typing into the computer.

"Now, Mr Beale."

"I don't know what kind of movies you've been watching, but hacking isn't just tap a couple of keys and you're in. Getting into a system takes time."

"As I recall, you broke the internet in short order," said Henrietta.

"I already had the virus."

"Why?" Granger asked.

"Bar bet."

"Huh. Fine how long will it take?"

"An hour or so."

Granger could only growl in frustration.

* * *

A phone rang to Deeks' right. Partridge answered and listened to the person on the other end. He said, "Okay," and hung up. "Alain is clear, no tails."

Deeks nodded. "Well, all games must come to an end."

Then he shut down the phones, removed the SIM cards, and broke them in half.

* * *

Sam and Callen finally caught up with their courier when he turned up an alley. The boy, who could have been no older than twenty, saw the fence in front of him and thought better of it. He turned and raised his hands.

"Federal agents, put the bag on the ground, get down on your knees, cross your ankles and interlace your fingers behind your head." The young man complied.

Sam walked up to cuff and search the young man. "Are you carrying any weapons or sharp objects?"

"No."

Callen opened the bag. Inside was a plastic wrapped copy of the A Song of Ice and Fire books.

Over the radio, Callen could hear Talia start swearing. Same story there, he supposed. The bagman was smiling. "Lawyer."

* * *

Meanwhile, far away in another part of town, Alain Charnier stopped his car in an alley. He'd been driving around for the better part of an hour making sure he wasn't being tailed.

Shortly thereafter, the two navy men showed up.

"You wanna tell me what this is all about," said the shorter of the pair.

"Simply, we were concerned that the DEA might know about you. As it turns out, we were correct."

"How do we know it isn't you they know about?"

"I suppose you don't, but if they did, you'd be in handcuffs now." A logical leap, but whatever, Alain just wanted to get this over with. He pulled a large bag from his the trunk of his car. "There's an extra $50,000 in there." The two men raised their eyebrows in surprise. "Consider it hazard pay." The sailors exchanged their bag of heroin for the bag of money.

The taller of the men shrugged. "Well, thanks, I suppose."

"You're welcome." Alain got back into his car and drove off.

* * *

Back at the Boatshed, things were tense.

"We should have been following the couriers. They would have led us to the distributor," said Granger.

"As would the bagmen. Don't try to hide the fact that the Frenchman has someone," said Talia.

"Your agency brought this case in and it was LAPD whose radio channel we were using. My agency isn't a likely infiltration target for street distributors and our counter-intel is too good."

"Everyone says that." Talia stopped. "So you agree the leak came from LAPD."

"Excuse me?"

"You agree that the leak is in LAPD. Listen, I agree that there is the possibility of a leak in DEA and when I find the rat they will suffer. But I need to have a job in order to do that and I have enough assholes who don't like that the girl got promoted over their buddies without dealing with the fallout from this. I think we both want to tie this in a bow and hang it around someone else's neck."

"So you're going to make LAPD look bad for your own benefit."

"Well they do have a mole and I hear you may have reason to dislike them."

"There's nothing wrong with a side benefit."

"Do you mind if I use your interrogation room. I'll have my guys bring the sailors in."

"Be my guest."

* * *

When Mazzuno and Costa got back to base, Peterson and Jacobson were waiting for them. They found the money in the bag. That and the handovers in Islamabad and LA were enough for a conviction for importing, especially once they found heroin residue in the gym bag. Beyond that, the sailors knew nothing about the distributors. They didn't know names, were simply told that the buyers would meet them at a specific parking structure at a specific time and give them further instructions. The guy who picked up the drugs looked and sounded French. At the first meeting he was with some guy, blonde, surfer's build. Talia stopped short of showing them Deeks' picture. It would be rude, not least of all because he'd saved her life. She wasn't going to hang him out to dry unless it was her or him.

The report on the case made several vague references to the possibility of a mole in LAPD, which Grange backed. A DEA bulletin regarding a new drug distribution network tentatively headed by an unknown Frenchman and his California surfer muscle was issued and found its way to LAPD, and from there to IA.

* * *

Ernest, Alain, Deeks and Partridge sat around the table with the four bagmen, who had been almost immediately released after their detention, a process speeded when they all asked for Ezra Klein, one of the city's top criminal defence attorneys, and he accepted their calls.

"Well they didn't look at the whole board. Focusing on the four boys when they should have been focusing on the couriers too. If there was a next time they'd be more careful."

"If?"

"We can't do this again."

"After all the work we did setting it up."

"Four of our guys were arrested, you and Max nearly were. The line is dead. We've got people I've never even heard of crawling up our asses. We're making too much noise and people get so worked up about drugs. It's not worth the risk. Not yet. We'll find another way."

"What about the dope?"

"Oh we'll sell it, but let's try to keep the excitement to a minimum from now on."

* * *

Later that night, Deeks walked into his apartment. He immediately made for the bathroom and the plastic wrapped phone. This time he didn't bother with a text, just called the number from memory. The person on the other end picked up on the second ring.

"Hey Deeks."

"Hey Kens."

Wherever this went, they were going there together. That's how they rolled.


	4. Risk: The Body

**A/N: After a long time and a considerable amount of writers block., I've finally managed to finish a chapter. To recap, Deeks is out of a job and is now working, in his Max persona, for Ernest Thornhill, an up and coming criminal. In the last episode, the team tried to intercept a drug shipment, and failed due to the Thornhill Organisation's Police and DEA contacts. Kensi and Deeks are still talking to one another and the purpose of that is revealed here.  
**

* * *

K

Kensi was running through the woods in Topanga State Park. Not a new route, but also not one she's used in a few weeks. Her feet were pounding the dirt track and, even as she kept one eye on the roots of the trees that lined the path, she once again reconsidered what she was doing. It was close to the line, possibly even over it, but she knew it was necessary, and her CI was the only one who could get it done. She was keeping this from her team, but she wasn't required to file any paperwork yet. She wasn't paying her CI and they were only in the preliminary information gathering stages, no chance of a warrant.

But at some point she would have to confess to Granger and Callen and Sam and Eric and Nell. And they would not be happy.

Her CI was waiting at the top of the hill, having run up the other side.

"Are you wearing a fanny pack?"

"Bro sack," said Deeks.

"Whatever."

"Hey Kens." Monty was at his feet, and quickly ran over to join her. His owner was close on his heels. Deeks took the hand that wasn't stroking Monty in his and ran his thumb over the back of her palm. Even that small contact unleashed a new wave of desire. It had been three months.

"You okay?"

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." Monty barked. "And you too," she said to the mutt.

"Well you could always call me again," Deeks said as a smile spread over his face.

"I might just do that." They stood there for a few seconds, grinning like the fools they were.

"I take it the sailor boys haven't given you anything new."

"No, do you know where the drugs went?"

"No, Alain handles that side with his own team, I'm not involved. Besides, it's all in the veins of the mentally ill by now."

"Anything else in the works?"

"Rumours, but it's been mostly quiet."

Do you think they smell a rat after the drug shipment went sour?

"Thornhill's smart, but for him it's about taking revenge on the man who wronged him. He wouldn't be able to let it play if he thought I was a cop." Deeks paused. "I could always testify against them for the drugs, we'd have them on importation."

"Deeks, you were a defence attorney. You've cross-examined enough dirty cops to know that they don't have any credibility." She saw the look on his face. "Oh, I didn't mean-."

"I know what you meant."

"We have to build a case that doesn't rely on your word alone."

"Well I'm inside the circle now, and Thornhill is going to need weapons if he wants to take down Muscov. There's something there."

"There is, and we're going to get them."

"You don't know that."

"Like you said, someone has to investigate these guys. No other agency will."

"So we're an agency now?"

"M.O.U.S.E.," said Kensi with a smile. Remembering earlier times, Deeks smiled back.

"They have no idea who you they're dealing with."

"No they do not."

"Well yeah, but I also meant that they had no idea NCIS existed until they heard you were working with the DEA."

"Oh, Sam and Callen are going to love that."

The former bomb dog started nosing around in the underbrush. "Monty, come back here," said Deeks. The two walked over. A man, early thirties in the remains of a business suit, had been dumped in the bushes beside the trail like an empty soda can.

"Go, I'll call it in," Kensi said. Deeks looked torn. "Go."

* * *

Sam and Callen made their way up the trail towards the crime scene. Deeks was proving difficult to find.

"You checked the Blue Room?" Sam asked.

"I've been in the Blue Room every night this week, which Joelle finds exhausting by the way, he's not going there," Callen said.

"Eric says he's cashed out his bank accounts and his phone hasn't been active in nearly three months."

"And he's not at Kensi's?"

"Not unless he's going in and out through the bathroom window."

"If I didn't know better I'd say he's left town."

"Or worse," Sam said. "Eric wants to tell Nell."

"She'll tell Kensi."

"Have you considered that maybe Kensi knows exactly where he is?"

"Then why hasn't she told us?"

"We all have things that we work on, on our own, until we think it's worth getting the others involved."

Callen couldn't argue with that.

A half dozen LAPD officers, detectives and forensic techs were milling around a body. Kensi was standing near the body in running gear. Rose Shwartz was crouched over, inserting a probe into the man's lower back.

"What have we got?"

"Deceased is a male in his early thirties. Cause of death is a single GSW to the back of the head, with two additional GSWs to the back of the chest that would have proved fatal. He was shot somewhere else and dumped here last night," said Kensi.

"Around 1am from liver temp," agreed Rose. "How do you know he was dumped? I haven't gotten his clothes off yet."

Kensi pointed at the bushes around them. "No blood spatter."

"Hmm, touche."

"Who is he?" Callen asked.

"No wallet or ID in his pockets, he had a watch, but it's gone," said Kensi.

"Not likely to be a robbery gone wrong though," said Sam.

"Why? asked Rose.

"When a thief kills a guy by accident, 99 times out of a hundred, he panics and runs for his life. This was most likely a hit," said Callen.

"Then why didn't they bury the body?"

"Good question."

"Oh oh," said Rose.

"What?"

"His Holiness is coming." The trio looked at her bewildered. "Captain Pope, head of Robbery Homicide."

"He going to be a problem."

"He's interested in keeping the clearance rate up, even if that means dumping cases on someone else."

"Terrific."

"Good morning Rose."

"Good morning Captain. Not every day I see you out here."

"Not every day federal agents try to muscle in on one of my crime scenes." He turned to G. "You mind telling me what you're doing here, Agent…"

"Callen, Agent Blye found the body."

"Who's he?" Pope asked of Rose.

"John Doe, cause of death is ballistic trauma to the head and chest."

"Shit."

"Who's the primary?"

"Mahone got the call."

"Terrific."

"If your detective will take Agent Blye's statement, we'll be on our way," said Callen.

"Oh you found it, you own it, Agent Callen."

"We're only here for our agent, not your dead body, homicides are LAPD's wheelhouse."

"This one's navy." Rose had gotten John Doe's shirt open. "Gregory Peck, United States Navy."

Pope smiled. "Your case, Agent Callen."

* * *

"Max." Deeks turned to see Thornhill standing at the fence.

"Listen Ernie-."

"Ernest."

"Ernest, sorry. If this is about some work, I've got three pickups to make so I need to get moving."

Ernest made a dismissing motion to Max's co-workers. They left. "From now on you don't need to show up here. I have another job for you, a postion in our collections and security wing. You'll report to Graeme."

Deeks had to suppress a smile. "Alright, what is it?"

"Dealing with people who can't keep their word. Graeme will fill you in on the details."

"That's it?"

"Forgive me Max but if I briefed everyone on their assignments, I wouldn't have time to decide what those assignments were. Graeme is at the investigations offices. Now, I have to go make some calls." Thornhill headed to a beat up Toyota. Deeks noted the licence plate before heading to his own car.

* * *

Kensi dropped by her house to change into work clothes, then went to the Mission.

"What do we have?"

"Peck graduated from UC Berkeley his Master's thesis was in modelling social outcomes in crisis situations, served six years in the Navy as an intelligence analyst. Sam and Callen went by his apartment, found business cards for Baylor Zimm, a stock brokerage in east LA," said Nell.

"His hard drive and tablet were missing, but I'm working on getting access to his cloud," said Eric.

"In the meantime, Agent Blye, take Agent Jones to Baylor Zimm. Find out what you can." Kensi didn't want or need a babysitter, but she also didn't want to insult her friend.

Fortunately, Granger stepped in."Get you gear Jones, Agent Blye if you have a minute." Kensi followed Granger to the other side of the bullpen. "This isn't a criticism of your performance, but no one goes anywhere alone. And Nell needs the field experience."

Kensi nodded as Nell came back down the stairs.

"Let's go."


	5. Risk: The Firm

**A/N: Thank you to all of those who have left reviews.**

* * *

The drive to Baylor Zimm was filled with shop talk and techno music. When they arrived at Baylor Zimm, the conversation turned to other things.

"How are our boys doing?"

"You sure someone isn't listening?"

"I don't think that Eric would bug our phones."

"And Hetty?"

"I have found that is best to proceed on the assumption that Hetty knows everything we know and then some at all times." Nell looked slightly troubled. Kensi supposed that was a little too pointed.

"They're still looking for Deeks. Eric ran another check through kaleidoscope and the DMV. How does he manage to stay off it by the way?

"Urban evasion course for professional development, Sam's counter surveillance training."

"Well, they're not giving up."

"Yeah. Sam has been camped outside my house all week."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Its best for you if you don't know."

"If I don't know I can't help you when it all hits the fan."

Kensi didn't have an answer for that. Fortunately, they were at the front door.

They were greeted by a twenty-something receptionist.

"I'm Agent Blye, this is Agent Jones, NCIS, we're here in regard to Gregory Peck."

"I'm sorry, he hasn't come in today."

Kensi paused. She really hated this part. "I'm sorry, Mr Peck was killed last night."

The receptionist paused for a full five seconds. "Oh, uh I'll call, uh, his supervisor is Jennifer Gates." The poor girl was in shock. Kensi wanted to reach out, but she had a job to do and if the receptionist was off-balance, then she was more likely to tell the truth.

"Did you know him?"

"Greg and I were friends, we'd go out with some of the analysts and the staff, a few traders who don't have too much of an ego."

"There are traders without egos?" Nell asked.

The girl, Kimberly from her name tag, let out a strangled laugh. "No, just ones that were bearable."

"Kimberly, why don't you call Greg's boss."

"Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"No ma'am, he was killed last night."

"Oh, oh my."

"Why don't we go somewhere more private." Someone, she was pretty sure it was Callen, had said that you should never let suspects stay together. And right now everyone was a suspect.

"How was Mr Peck's relationship with his colleagues."

"He got along well with everyone."

"Everyone liked him?"

"A cliché, I know, but he was a good guy, was right a lot but didn't let it go to his head too much."

"Any family?"

"His parents live in San Francisco I think. No wife, no kids, fortunately." The supervisor paused. "Oh god, that doesn't make it any better at all."

"Why don't we head down to his desk," Kensi said.

"Greg worked in our risk management division. He mostly performed analysis of our investments to ensure that we weren't too exposed to any shift in the market."

"How does that work?"

"I honestly don't know."

"That reassuring."

"I've never heard that one before." They came to a stop in one of the rows at the far end of the room. "This was his desk."

"We'll need to take his computer."

"Of course. We are always happy to comply with any investigation." Which meant they'd been investigated before.

"Had Mr Peck ever been in any trouble before?"

"Gregory would never be involved in anything illegal. He was honest to a fault. You can take the boy out of the Navy, I guess."

Gates pulled a card out of her pocket and wrote a number on the back left handed. "If you find out what happened to Greg or if you need anything else, please give me a call."

* * *

Deeks walked into the fourth storey building. At the desk was a blonde receptionist in a black skirt suit and pink blouse, tasteful cleavage. He was still a man with a pulse. He also noticed how her hand went under the desk, probably a .45 pointed directly at his groin.

"Max Gentry, I have an appointment with Graeme Partridge."

The young lady, Emily by her nametag, checked the diary sitting open on the desk. "Of course, Mr Gentry. I'll call someone down." She picked up the phone.

A blazered guard with a shoulder holster soon appeared. Deeks was escorted past a spinlock door where another guard had taken his phone and run a metal detector over his entire body. He was led through a small nest of desks, up a set of stairs, passed through another spinlocked door and through another bull pen to a corner office.

Graeme stood as he entered and nodded to one of the seats in front of his desk. The other was occupied by one of the men who had been following him a few weeks before.

"Don't think we ever got a chance to be introduced, I'm Kevin."

"If you'd come a little closer we might have been able to get to know each other better." Deeks sat forward in his seat and pushed his chest out slightly. Max was a prickly and hostile man who jumped at a chance to prove his worth with his fists.

"Well, I would have, but the only time I tried, you shoved a gun in my face." The man wasn't going to be intimidated.

Partridge intervened. "Simmer down. Kevin, keep on her, we need to clean this up."

"On it." Kevin got up and headed out.

When the door was closed, Graeme turned to Deeks. "As you probably saw on the way in, Private Investigations is a functioning business. We handle your standard finding people, catching cheating husbands. We also handle some local political stuff. But Private also shelters our security wing."

"You sure that's a good idea? It gives the cops a virtual members list."

"The guys have to be paid. And the more serious stuff isn't run out of here." Which explained the guys at the money warehouse, and it was not like Partridge would be claiming bribes as a business expense. "At the moment, it's just collections, which is what you'll be dealing with today, but also intelligence. In a week or so, I want you to put it out there that we'll pay big cash for any information whatsoever. Cops, other gangs, whoever. We also need weapons, but intelligence is the key."

"I'll talk to people."

"Today's job is a bit more basic. We gave a guy some product, he was supposed to give us money."

"And he didn't."

"No integrity these days. The kid's name is Marcellus Wallace." Partridge paused. "Say it, get it out of your system."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Deeks.

Partridge smiled. Then handed him the address. "It's not about the money, it's about sending a message."

"Now you're just mixing your metaphors."

"Just make sure he doesn't do it again."

"On it."

"Now, I have to make some calls." Deeks remembered what Ernest had said less than an hour earlier. He saw Partridge pick up a list of numbers, next to each were a word and a string of numbers. About two thirds of the lines had been crossed out. Deeks noted the first two lines, then turned and walked out.

* * *

Callen and Sam were driving back to the Mission. Callen couldn't help but notice that Sam was taking longer than usual. Then he saw the same convenience store from a few minutes earlier. A heat run, a really long one.

"You do realise the drug bust went wrong because there's a mole in LAPD."

"Or DEA."

"So why the long way home?"

"We've been getting sloppy. Letting people in we shouldn't, getting into routines. We can't keep going the way we are."

Callen wasn't entirely certain that Sam was just talking about security protocol. He was about to reply when the phone rang. "What is it Eric?"

"We received a call from the FBI financial crimes division. They want to meet to discuss our interest in Baylor Zimm."

"Direct them to the boatshed." Even if he was just talking about security, his partner was rarely wrong.

"Got it."

When Sam and Callen arrived at the marina, they sat for five minutes, waiting to see if someone elsewas following. When they got out performed a quick check of the area, looking for cameras and observers.

They wound up playing cards while they waited for the FBI's Agent to arrive.

When she did, she smiled. "This place isn't easy to find."

"That's the point of a saf ehouse," said Sam.

"Agent Stephanie Platt, financial crimes."

Callen and Sam introduced themselves.

"You want to tell me why you're investigating Baylor Zimm."

Callen briefly considered holding out, but then thought better of it. There was no need to be a dick and Agent Platt seemed more likely to respond well to cooperation. "One of their risk analysts, a navy reservist, was shot and killed last night."

"Any leads?"

"The day is young. What's your interest?"

"There have been allegations of insider trading around the firm."

"I'm sure there are allegations around every firm."

"This isn't Baylor Zimm's first rodeo."

"Last time the traders closed ranks against us. This time we received an anonymous email and documents apparently from inside Baylor Zimm."

"A whistleblower?"

"One who wanted to keep their identity a secret."

"Sounds promising."

"Which was why I didn't want a bunch of blackops types rushing in and scaring my guy off. With respect, from what little I've been able to gather, you have a tendency to deal with things directly at the expense of the wider issues."

"Such as a career enhancing bust," said Sam.

"Such as a large firm involved in fraudulent financial activities which will continue long after you have moved on," said Agent Platt.

"Have you had any further contact with your informant?" Callen asked.

"No, and I've tried. I need her to get a warrant for Baylor Zimm's files."

"Her?"

"Figure of speech. Their digital trail dead ends in an internet cafe in Long Beach. No surveillance close by."

"Our victim had intelligence training. We have a possible motive."

"I'm glad. And if I can be of any assistance."

"You'll be the first person we call."

"Thank you."

* * *

"You okay?"

"Not my first dead body, are you?"

"I'm fine." Kensi knew what that meant, and that there was nothing she could do.

"His name was Gregory Peck. He worked in Naval Intelligence then as a risk analyst for Baylor Zimm."

"Never heard of them.

They're a second tier stock brokerage in east LA."

"I haven't heard anything. Though Partridge seemed pretty certain that Organisation was going to come into a lot of money soon."

"Could you find out more?"

"Thornhill has things set up with a cell structure. There's guys on the outside who know nothing, guys further in like me who know some, but only Thornhill and the guys who are really close to him know everything."

"It's going to be a tough nut to crack."

"It's going to require manpower, and an operation."

"We knew that going in."

"The others know about me?"

"I haven't told them yet."

"They're not going to be happy."

"They'll get over it."

"We need them. You have to tell them."

"I will tell them when we're ready."

"I'm ready now."

"I'm not. We need more."

"They're buying and distributing drugs, not to mention cops, and almost certainly weapons and we know who they are."

"It's all small time."

"Why do I get the feeling there's more going on here?"

"Come on Deeks, you know that Hetty will bounce this to LAPD and it won't get investigated. We need more."


	6. Risk: The Patsy

**A/N: Thank you to all those who continue to read and review this story. I inserted a couple of references to Thornhill and Partridge making calls and Deeks gathering some undercover intel.  
**

* * *

Callen looked up as Kensi walked into Ops. It wasn't like her to check out in the middle of the day, but then she had been acting weird lately.

"I checked through Peck's computer. On the surface there was nothing, but I checked the registry. Several files, all relating to Sunshine Desalination, were deleted."

"Sunshine Desalination is an R&D firm. Its stock price has increased by almost 800% in the last month," said Nell.

"Several leaks have suggested that the company is on the verge of a producing a major breakthrough," said Eric.

"Also, a risk assessor at Baylor Zimm, Peter Griffin, published a positive report on Sunshine Desalination. The buy frenzy started at Baylor Zimm, but it's since spread to other firms," said Nell.

"I don't suppose there's a way to find out if anyone brought a whole lot of stock just before the frenzy started," said Callen.

"Three companies: WTF Investments, Bacon Financial and FTC Capital all purchased significant stock holdings in the week before the issue of the report," said Nell.

"Who is behind them?"

"The companies are all directed by a lawyer and the address for service is Jenkins Corporate Services, a Wyoming company that incorporates other companies and then receives mail and acts in the name of the actual owner, shady but not illegal," said Eric.

"Barely," added Nell.

"Sam and I'll go talk to Peter Griffin," said Callen. "Send the information to Agent Platt and her team."

Kensi pulled Nell aside. "Keep looking into those companies. Is there some way to find out who's behind them without tipping them off?"

"If we had a warrant I could have Eric do a virtual sneak and peek, but we'd need probable cause."

"I'll look into it."

* * *

Sam and Callen drove out to Peter Griffin's house in Montecito Heights. He had gone home shortly after Kensi and Nell had left.

"Do you think he was just overwhelmed with emotion from the death of his colleague? Callen said.

"Well, I think he was overwhelmed by something," replied Sam.

"This is a nice house, and that's a $50,000 car in the driveway," said Sam. Griffin liked the high life, it could make him easy to exploit.

Callen pulled out his phone. "Eric, can you have Nell run Griffin's financials."

"She's on it."

"Do we have Griffin's phone number?"

"Yeah, Nell and Kensi got all the employee's numbers during their visit."

"Start a DNR, I want to know who he calls."

"On it."

"And see if you can't find out who he called before the murder."

"You want me to make your dinner while I'm at it."

"That'd be great."

Griffin answered the door almost as soon as Sam knocked.

After the pleasantries, Callen saw no reason not to cut to the chase. "Where did you get the tip about Sunshine Desalination?"

"A confidential source."

"Someone at Sunshine?"

"I have to protect identities." It seemed to Callen that the only person Griffin was protecting was himself.

"We don't care about insider trading, we care about murder. And we know the two things are connected."

"No comment."

"You really want to be arrested for obstruction?" Sam said, his voice hardening. Technically, Griffin couldn't be charged with obstruction for refusing to answer, but there was no reason he needed to know that.

"You can prove that my source is germane to the investigation? Or that anything I've said is untrue?" Griffin had clearly been better briefed than they had anticipated.

"Mr Griffin, it's in your best interests to work with us."

"I have nothing more to say and I request that you ask any further questions through my lawyer."

Callen and Sam headed down the front steps.

"He knows," said Sam. "But he's not prepared to eat so much as a false statement charge for it. Then we'll run at him again."

"Yeah," Callen agreed. "We've shaken the tree. Let's see what comes loose."

* * *

Deeks sat on his motorcycle almost two blocks from Marcellus Wallace's main distribution point. He'd been sitting there for almost an hour just watching as people came and went. There was a vacant overlooking the court yard where James and John had been instructed to watch from. He could see the two men driving towards him now.

He leaned over as they pulled up alongside. "How many?"

"Twenty, mostly lookouts and touts and runners," said James. "There are three or four that might cause trouble, but only Wallace and the guy on the stash are armed."

"Good. Follow my lead."

Deek started his motorbike and headed down the street towards the entrance while John made a u-turn to follow. Deeks stopped just short of the entrance and then walked in without looking back, though he could hear James and John get out of the car and follow him. Deeks walked up to the chief, brushing past two of his associates as he did so. For Max, appearance of confidence was just as important as substance.

"You owe us $10,000. Where is it?"

Marcellus Wallace looked at him, sizing him up, the made the mistake of assuming that Max was an idiot. The hair could have that effect on people, which was part of the point. "Police came by and took it."

"Where's the evidence control number?"

"Excuse me?"

"When the police take your stuff, they create an evidence control number. You can get it. What is the number?"

Marcellus failed to come up with a witty retort. Instead, he drew and pointed a pistol, gangster style, at Deeks's face with his right hand.

It was the opening Deeks had been expecting. Deeks ducked and stepped to his left. He grabbed Wallace's wrist with his right hand and slammed his left palm into the dealers elbow, snapping it in the wrong direction. The dealer screamed and dropped the pistol to the ground. Deeks kicked the Wallace's knee so he dropped to his knees. Deeks delivered three quick punches to the dealer's face which put the dealer on his back. It took less than ten seconds. The crew were dumbfounded. Deeks' back up wasn't much better, but they recovered quickly enough that they were able to draw their own pistols - not gangster style, thank god - and cover the crew.

Deeks stood over the Wallace."Please," the dealer whimpered. Deeks shook a little inside, but he couldn't afford to appear weak, not now. Not ever.

"You have twenty four hours to get the cash to the drop, or I'll be back." He walked back towards his motorcycle. His confederates followed.

"He looked like a bitch," said one. Deeks balled his hands into fists, mainly to stop them from shaking.

"You two take the car back to the warehouse. I have another errand to run." He turned back towards his motorcycle.

"What?"

Deeks turned back. He was taller than the two men ordinarily, but with his chest spread and standing at his full height right in their faces, he towered over them. "Laundry, what's it to you?" Apparently it was nothing. Deeks got on his motorbike.

He made a series of quick turns and then pulled into an alley. He hopped off the bike and leaned against a wall. When he was satisfied that he hadn't been followed, he sank down and his feet slid away from the wall. He bent double with his hands on his knees and let out a shuddering breath.

"You are not your father," he whispered. That helped as much as it usually did.

* * *

Callen and Sam were heading back to the Mission when Eric called. "Talk to me Eric."

"After you left, Griffin called a number, I ran a reverse directory search, its a burner cell. The call lasted four and a half minutes. I'm working on past calls for both numbers now.

"And the good stuff?"

"I managed to get the phone company to hand over Gregory Peck's phone meta data. Guess who his last two calls were with?"

"Peter Griffin."

"The one and only."

Callen turned to Sam. "Why do smart people always think that lying to us will get them anywhere?"

"Because they're stupid," said Sam as he pulled the Challenger into a u-turn.

"The calls were placed at around 7pm and then at about 12.30am the night Peck was killed."

"Thanks Eric."

* * *

Callen, Sam and Kensi stood in front of the screen in the boatshed.

"What occasions the call Agent Platt?"

"Whoever is behind the shell companies was using Baylor Zimm as a boiler room."

"How do you know that?" Callen asked.

"Because they just sold their stocks in Sunshine Desalination. The market is flooded with shares. The stock price is cratering."

"How much did Baylor Zimm have invested in Sunshine? How much did their clients?"

"Millions. And they're going to lose everything."

* * *

Sam and Callen walked into the interrogation room in the boat shed. "I didn't have anything to do with it," said Griffin.

"To do with what?" Sam asked.

"And would you like to explain the calls you made to Gregory Peck the night he was killed?" Callen asked.

"Or the call you made to a burner phone before we were even out the door."

"Or the fifty thousand dollars recently deposited in your bank account?"

"It's only a matter of time before we put this together on our own and when we do, you'll eat the whole meal."

"Okay look, I took the money she gave me and I wrote the report the way that she wanted it, but I never knew anybody was going to get hurt," said Peck, gesticulating as much as his cuffed hands would allow to emphasise his point.

"And you didn't see how luring him out in the middle of the night would be dangerous."

"When Greg srarted asking questions I called her, she said she'd handle it. A couple of nights later she told me to tell him I wanted to meet." Griffin shifted in his seat. "I did what I was told. I called Greg and then I went to a bar and got wasted."

"Who told you to make the call?"

"I can't, I mean, what if people found out? I know what they do to rats."

"You're going down for aiding a murder. You can do it in San Quentin or in Club Fed, whichever you want."

"Jennifer Gates."

Callen and Sam walked out of interrogation. Sam turned to Callen. "Jennifer Gates isn't strong enough to carry a body half way up a mountain."

"Nell, do we have anything on the front companies?"

"Yeah, the lawyer tried to stall until we explained that we had evidence that the companies were involved in a multi-million dollar stock fraud. The companies were incorporated on the orders of Jennifer Gates."

* * *

Kensi led the way through the door to Gates' apartment, shotgun raised. Nell was right behind her.

"Federal agents."

Kensi swept left to the glass which made up one entire wall of the apartment. The pair walked quickly up the corridor that led into the main room of the studio apartment. Gates was sitting on the couch facing away from the entrance.

Kensi covered Gates with shotgun. "Federal agents, hands in the air." Gates didn't move.

Nell speed walked over to the bathroom and disappeared inside briefly before returning. "Clear." She turned to cover Gates and then blanched and lowered her pistol.

Kensi walked around slightly. There was an entry wound in the side of Gates' head and a pistol in her right hand.

* * *

Kensi and Rose watched as two medics loaded Gates' body onto a gurney.

"It doesn't fit," said Kensi

"What doesn't fit?" Rose asked.

"Gates was middle management at a second tier brokerage. She doesn't have the connections or the capital to be the one behind something like this."

"Maybe she made the money from trades, she was a broker," said Rose.

"And she was left handed."

"I see where you're going, but you can't assume that someone who's suicidal is going to behave rationally."

Kensi headed after the medics. "Hold up." The medics stopped and Kensi pulled the body bag open. She pushed Gates' collar around until she found what she was looking for. "Look."

Rose stepped forward. "Puncture wound, looks to be too big for an insect bite. I'll run tests back at the lab. So who killed Gates and made it look like a suicide."

"I don't know." But she had an idea. "We need to tear this place apart."

* * *

Kensi followed Sam and Callen into the boat shed. Stephanie Platt was waiting.

When they were seated, Agent Platt began her presentation. "The money was same day cleared to a company in Houston called Capital Asset Management. It's owned and directed by Mr Graeme Egret." A map of the United States appeared on screen, with a single line reaching from LA to Houston. "By the time we knew that had happened and traced the account, the money had been sent offshore to the company's bank account in Panama." The map pulled out, and linked Houston to Panama. From there the money went to hundreds of different recipients. The one's we've identified so far are hawala brokers, currency exchanges and investment banks." Platt pulled up list of account numbers, their host countries and, where it existed, a name of the account holder. Kensi made a mental note to check the account numbers against the ones Deeks had given her.

"And from there?"

"Not one of the accounts is in the US. It would take months to trace the recipients and by then the money would be gone."

"Can we trace this Graeme Egret?"

"The registered office is a cubbyhole in Nevada. Graeme Egret came in exactly once to sign the incorporation documents. They didn't take ID because they're not required to."

"The Panamanians?"

"They've given us all the information that Panamanian law requires them to give. They asked the lawyer down there for a copy of the Egret's ID. It's so bad it could be my picture on there."

"Is it?" Callen asked.

Agent Platt laughed.

"We didn't find a burner in Gates' apartment or any paper relating to the front companies or Sunshine," said Sam. "Her computer hard drive and personal cell were taken. Whoever is behind these guys, they're thorough."

I've been ordered to hand the case over to OFAC to see what they can do about retrieving some of the money." Platt was referring to the Office of Foreign Asset Control in the Department of Treasury. "I'll keep on them, but I figured you could use the data too. I've shared our case files with your office."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Max, please sit." Deeks sat in the seat Partridge indicated. Marcellus Wallace had delivered the required funds less than twelve hours after Deeks had been to see him. Partridge picked up a piece of paper with more bank accounts and passwords on it. Before Deeks could catch a glance Partridge dropped it into a shredder.

"You look relaxed."

"There was a thing, with a guy." Deeks crooked an eyebrow. "It was a couple of guys. It's settled now."

"That's good to hear."

"From what I hear, you're a guy who knows how to bring people together."

"Yeah, mainly arms, some drugs."

"Do you know cops, feds?"

"I could probably put you in touch with some people who do."

"Put it out there that your employer will pay big cash for any information whatsoever. Our names do not get out on the street."

"We have the cash to back that up? If I go telling people things and I can't deliver-"

"I'm going to stop you there before you say something you'll regret when you wake up. As of this morning, the answer is yes. We have more than enough."

"I'll put it out there."

"Good, if you get anything, call this number." Partridge handed over a card with the letters HI and a phone number. "Ask for Mary Spalding. Put them together and they'll make the music."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Second thing, you know how to get guns?"

"I know people who can get them."

"Good." He reached down behind his desk and dumped a block of bills in front of Deeks. "That's fifty grand. That's your street money for intel and guns. Put it out there that you're looking to buy serious hardware. I'll get back to you on specifics in a couple of days.

"On it."


	7. Arms Trade: The Plan

**A/N: Another week, another update. Thanks to all those who are still reading this and especially to those who review. Once again this is the start of a new "episode" Arms Trade, where Deeks and Kensi make a plan to take down Thornhill.**

* * *

Deeks and Kensi sat side by side looking out over the Los Angeles basin as the sun set over the Pacific.

"Thornhill wants me to set up an arms deal."

"Its what we've been waiting for."

"We're going to need a plan."

"I have one. We put GPS trackers in the weapons, motion powered so they last, then we put the place under surveillance."

"This feels oddly familiar."

"We are not the ATF."

"I just don't want to be the one putting more guns on the street. I can't." Deeks turned away to look at the calming waters of the Pacific.

Kensi interlaced her fingers with his, rubbing her thumb over the back of his palm. "We won't be." Deeks nodded.

"You need to tell them, they need to be ready."

"I will, once the deal is set up. Deeks wanted to fight, but he saw the slight steeling in her shoulders and thought better of it.

"We should get going." Deeks moved to get up. Kensi gripped his hand tighter. Deeks turned back to look at her. "In about ten minutes its going to be freezing."

"That's why I brought two blankets."

Deeks smiled and settled back down. "I love you."

"I know."

* * *

Thornhill, Partridge and Deeks were sitting in the offices of Private Investigations. Partridge sat behind his desk while Deeks and Thornhill sat in the two chairs in front. Thornhill rattled off a memorised shopping list. "Four shotguns. Three dozen pistols – .45s or 9mils, absolutely no .38s."

"Really?" Deeks said.

"You shoot a guy with a .38 it won't always put him down the first time," said Partridge. "There was this MP that told me that, big guy, I'll never forget him."

"Okay."

Thornhill continued. "An equal number of Kevlar vests. A dozen submachine guns, preferably HKs. Most of the American brands look stupid. A M110 sniper rifle. And a dozen .22s."

".22s? That's kind of a girl's gun," said Deeks.

"There's a time for a scalpel and a time for a hammer Max, and .22s are easier to silence."

"Anything else?"

"Silencers for the .22s, Grenades – fragmentation, flash bang and chemical, a couple of M32 Multiple Grenade Launchers."

"What on earth are you going to need a grenade launcher for?"

"There's a time for a scalpel and a time for a hammer. You have to look at the whole board."

"You want 7s or 5s for the sub machine guns."

"Dealers choice."

"I'll start looking, but that kind of list might take a while to set up."

* * *

"What does he want?"

"Enough guns and grenades to take a city" Then he told her exactly what was on the list.

"Twenty million goes a long way. Can you get it?"

"Can I get more than a quarter million worth of hardware? The Crows are our best bet. They're a biker crew from up norh that created a charter down here a few years back. They buy a lot of European stock and heavy hardware."

"You haven't been under as an arms dealer in years. How do you know all that?"

"I like to read. Its amazing what you can find in intel reports."

* * *

Deeks walked into a bar. Jimmy was sitting at the far end of the bar and got up as soon as he saw Max walk in. Deeks followed him into the back. As Jimmy reached the back broke into a run. Deeks followed and his longer legs allowed him to catch Jimmy before they were halfway down the alley.

Deeks grabbed him and threw him into the wall. It felt good. And Max had a reputation for hurting people that had to be maintained. At least that was what Deeks told himself.

Jimmy was an incredibly low level gun dealer who brought mainly pistols from the Crows and then sold them on the street with very little regard to who brought them or how they were used. Which made it okay to hurt him, said one voice in his head. No it doesn't, its never okay, said another voice.

"What?" Jimmy said. Deeks took a step back.

"I know you hang with the Crows. I need you to put me in contact with them. I'm looking to buy."

"Maybe I could help you out?"

"What I'm looking to buy is so far above your level you couldn't see it if you used a telescope."

"Then what's in it for me?"

"Money, it was going to be twenty grand, but seeing you made me run, it's ten."

"Come on."

"You want to make it five." He pulled out one of the two bundles of cash from his jacket. "Yes or no?"

"All up front."

"Half now, half when we get to the meeting."

Jimmy paused for a moment before making his decision. "Fine."

Deeks broke the band and counted out $5,000. Then he handed Jimmy a card. "Call me when you have the meeting."

Deeks sat in the car, just watching. The Crows LA charter was prosperous. According to the last ATF intel report, they had nearly two dozen full members wearing their patch of the reaper holding a sickle and M16, along with nearly as many prospects and associates, and charters in Nevada and a charming town in the San Joaquin valley and 15 other cities around the globe, not to mention a dozen nomads ready to back them up if needed.

The meeting was with one of the patched members in a park. Deeks was early, but so were the bikers, four whom were dispersed around the park with all the approaches covered.

One of the bikers pulled out a cellphone and made a five second call. A few minutes later, three more bikers drove up and them made their way over to a picnic table in the middle of the park. Deek recognised the one in the centre, who took a seat while the other took up positions nearby. He was Duke, the Vice President of the Crows LA charter.

He held up the other half of the brick to Jimmy, who took it. He didn't move.

He turned to Jimmy. "Piss off."

"What? We're ten miles from my car."

Deeks turned to face the gun dealer. "Then you'd better start walking." Jimmy got out of the car and walked off.

Deeks got out of the car and walked over to where Duke was sitting.

Duke was "You're Duke?" He had a Men of Mayhem patch on his cut, usually reserved for those who had killed in the service of the club.

"You're Max?"

"Yeah."

"Jimmy said you wanted serious gear."

Deeks gave him the shopping list. Duke whistled.

"That'll be two hundred thousand. Half now and half on delivery."

"Twenty percent now. You know me, I don't know you"

"Forty percent, I don't know you."

"I know you've been asking around about me, and you wouldn't have taken this meeting if you'd heard bad things, so a third now."

"I'm surprised that you didn't push the price."

"I know what this gear is worth."

"Deal." The two men shook hands.

"Let me get my money from the car." Duke nodded.

* * *

Once Deeks got back to his apartment, he went into the bathroom, pulled a plastic wrapped phone out of the cistern and sent a text: We're on.


	8. Arms Trade: The Exchange

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review this story. A special thanks to the most recent Guest reviewer, who caused me to alter and expand this first few scenes from my original plan.**

* * *

Kensi sat in her SRX outside the Mission and seriously contemplating calling in sick today.

The only good thing about today was that Hetty was in Washington for a budget meeting, a relatively new development as she used to attend via videolink. Apparently, Kensi wasn't the only person who was pissed at Hetty.

That didn't mean today was going to be easy. She headed through the oak doors and walked slowly towards the bull pen. Even from this distance she could hear them bantering away. She walked into the main room and the two men looked up as she entered the bullpen. Rather than heading for her desk, Kensi remained where she was.

"Kensi, what's going on? Callen asked. Kensi didn't respond.

"Kensi?" Sam said, leaning towards her. Callen moved his chair back, about to rise. Still Kensi didn't respond.

Finally she gathered her courage, walked over to her desk, dropped her bag and turned to the two men. "Come with me."

She led the two men out into the courtyard within the hacienda, coming to a stop next to the fountain in the centre.

"What's going on?" Callen asked.

Even now, it took Kensi a long moment to speak. "Deeks is infiltrating Thornhill's ranks. Thornhill brought the drugs we chased with the DEA and he probably ran the pump and dump and killed Peter Griffin and Jennifer Gates. Now he's getting Deeks to buy a shipment of arms and I need your help."

"Why didn't you tell us before," said Sam.

"We all work on things on our own," said Callen to his partner.

"No, Deeks was undercover, he needed back up," said Sam.

"This isn't undercover, this is infiltration and you know as well as I do that when you do that, you're on your own."

"We could've helped him. We could've worked together and we'd have more than we have."

"We have a lot. We know the names of front companies, locations, top lieutenants."

"And a murderer walks free."

"Even if we knew who killed Griffin and Gates, and we don't, that wouldn't be enough tie it to Thornhill. He'd walk and hire more killers.

"We could have found out more," said Sam.

"How?" Kensi leaned towards Sam. The former SEAL reciprocated.

Callen stepped between them. "We can't spend time feeling sorry about what might have been," said Callen. He turned to Kensi. "How does Deeks link Thornhill to the pump and dump?"

"One of Thornhill's lieutenants had a list of bank accounts, at least two of those matched accounts that the Sunshine money was sent to."

"Can Deeks get the list?"

"It was shredded."

"When's the arms deal?"

"Tomorrow or the next day. There will be separate cash and weapons exchanges. We follow the arms up the chain of command."

"We can't just let them walk."

"We were thinking GPS transmitters," said Kensi.

"Too obvious, not to mention you can't use them on the pistols," said Callen

"We could use Overwatch," said Sam. "Totally invisible, trackable for up to three weeks, which should be more than what we need."

Callen and Kensi nodded. "The Crows supply everyone, from terrorists, to the Aryans, to Mexican Cartels. They're on every watch list from here to Hong Kong. We can justify this to Granger."

"I agree, but we should have a plan first, and we need to tell Eric and Nell, they can help.

"Let's get to work," said Sam. He headed back into the mission.

Callen turned to her. Why didn't you tell us about Deeks?"

"Because you'd've told Hetty."

* * *

Deeks walked towards "What were you thinking?"

Deeks turned to look at Callen. "Oh, I'm just here to keep the peace."

"It wasn't necessary to bring you in."

"We shouldn't be keeping things from each other.

"We keep things from each other all the time. Sudan, Jada, your family." Sam opened his mouth. "Look I'm not saying we shouldn't have told you, or that we were running it, and we chose not to because we thought it was best."

"You thought we were a security risk?"

"Yeah, we did. And I would point out that you never questioned it when it was Hetty was making the calls, no matter how badly it went."

Sam's face changed to a look of consideration. Conveniently, before the big man could formulate a response, Deeks' phone buzzed.

"One second." Deeks pulled his phone from his pocket. "The Crows have set a meeting for tomorrow at a warehouse in North LA."

"Then we've got a job to do." Sam paused. Deeks said nothing, "You're not going to apologise?"

"If I had to make the same choice again, I'd make the same one, and so would you."

Sam nodded, Deeks thought he understood, even if he didn't emotionally agree. The three men headed inside.

* * *

Granger approved their plan with surprisingly little convincing. A check through the Justice Department computers revealed that the ATF was still attempting their way through the outer bulwarks of the Crows.

* * *

Deeks leaned against the side of the van. He and two other members of Thornhill's crew were gathered in an alleyway, four blocks from the warehouse where the meet had beem scheduled.

"Repeat the instructions I gave you."

"I already did."

"Do it again."

"I go into meet the Crows at the money exchange while you check the guns. When you give me the go ahead, Bob brings in the money and you take the guns. Are you sure you don't want someone to help you out?"

Thornhill had asked the same question and Deeks gave the same answer both times. "The fewer people involved, the less chance there is that someone will say the wrong thing to the wrong person." Also, he needed the opening to spray the weapons with Overwatch, which Kensi had provided.

* * *

Kensi climbed up onto the roof of a building overlooking the warehouse. Kensi toggled her comms. "Position One, the Crows are on site."

"Copy that," said Deeks. "Proceeding."

Kensi was so focused on Deeks' van as it drove towards the warehouse, that she had no warning before she heard a click behind her. She whipped round to see a figure standing over her. "Don't move."

* * *

The moment Deeks walked into the warehouse, he scanned every face. It was a habit he had picked up after an unpleasant lesson in how incestuous the LA underworld could be. He saw no faces he recognised, but one of the men hung in the back, always keeping someone between Deeks and himself. Before Deeks could take a closer look, Duke walked over.

The biker stuck out his hand. "Afternoon."

"Hot enough for you," Deeks said as he returned the handshake.

"No power means no power bill, but it also means no AC."

"Then let's get this over with."

Duke nodded and led Deeks over to the hardware. Deeks looked them over. He was satisfied that they were the real deal. He doubted that the Crows wanted people who brought automatic weapons to come back for a refund.

He texted the moneyman, waited for a response, then pulled the SIM card out broke it into four, then smashed the body under his boot.

"Must cost you in phones."

"But it's saved me in years." The truth was that he'd given the phone number to Eric, and seeing as Eric did everything on computer, to Hetty as well, and he didn't want to give the tiny ninja any more information than he absolutely had too. Plus, it had impressed his co-worker, and Duke and his men in the bargain.

After a few minutes, Duke received his own text, and followed Deeks' example.

"You know, you're not what I expected.

"Oh,

"You're supposed to be well..."

"Crazy" Duke said nothing. "I only have the two modes, be thankful you don't get to meet the other guy."

Duke smiled and nodded, probably because the man's finely tuned bullshit detector had just pinged. He turned to his men and waved a finger in a circle.

Deeks closed up one of the crates. Then he and Duke brought it over to his van.

The other Crows soon had a rhythm going, shuttling boxes between the warehouse pile and the van.

Deeks finally got a good look at one of the guys carrying the guns. It was Bauer from ATF. The recognition was clear on his face. Deeks shot the man a pleading look. Bauer shook his head. Fragglerock.

Deeks walked over to help the ATF agent load the case into the truck. "How long do you think we have to do this?" he asked, referring to the ATF's pending arrival.

"About two minutes." Loading up would take twice that. And he couldn't very well just drive off without inviting some very awkward questions about why. Fragglerock. There was nothing to do now but play it out. He continued carrying crates back and forth between the two vehicles.

Duke's radio crackled. "Someone's-"

"Knuckle up," shouted Duke.

Ten seconds later the door burst of its hinges.

"Federal agents, don't move." Bauer immediately dropped to his knees and Deeks followed his example, along with Duke and several other members of the crew. One of the Crows did not comply. The ATF agents shot him without hesitation.

Within a minute the warehouse was secured. The breach team and the windbreakered agents half led half dragged Deeks and the Crows to the wagon waiting outside. The last thing Deeks saw before he was dragged out was a pair of clipboard carrying DEA agents cataloguing the cache of weapons.


	9. Arms Trade: The New Plan

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. My grandparents, who had known each other since primary school, passed away within two months of each other, so its been hard to find the motivation to write. But now I'm back in the saddle. So here goes.**

* * *

ATF had much smaller holding cells that LAPD. Instead of 30' x 30' group cells, ATF used single person cells, barely 40 feet square. Worse, today they were double booked. Even worse, his cellmate, Remy, who had been the money man, would not shut up. He needed time to think. By now Kensi would have gone to Granger, but the question of whether-

"Hottest actress in the hottest scene in movie history, go."

Deeks turned away from Remy to face the wall. He wanted to punch it more than anything. That wouldn't be helpful, and hitting things never seemed to satisfy his father for very long. The real question was who was calling the shots, if it was Bauer then there was a good chance that he could walk, but if it was some ladder climber-

"Best line in Breaking Bad."

Deeks took a very deep breath.

"Come on man, you've got to give me something."

Deeks really did not need to deal with this right now. He was trying to salvage this. If he couldn't well, he didn't really-

"Hey."

Deeks rolled over and sat up. He felt the fury rising inside of him and in all honesty pummelling Remy was probably better than facing-

The cell door buzzed. He turned to see two plain clothes agents. "You're up," said one. They led him down the hallway and into one of the interrogation rooms.

Standing next to the table was a male agent. Unlike the last two times the men had met. Agent Bauer was wearing suit and ATF lanyard, his hair combed back and his beard neatly trimmed, with a single folder, full but not overstuffed on the table. All designed to present authority and control to the subject.

"Are we?" He waved towards the cameras.

"We're being recorded."

"You want to tell me why you're under buying guns for a gang."

"The same reason you were under with bikers, to catch the bad guys."

"Do your bosses know about this?"

"Not the exact details."

"What they don't know..."

"Exactly."

"I screwed it up for you brother."

"It's okay, I'm sure I can spin this."

"So you don't want me to call this in."

"No, question me, then throw me back."

Bauer smiled. "I should have brought coffee." He settled into his chair. "So, how've you been?"

* * *

When the voice told Kensi not to move, she managed to turn over and draw a pistol. Being shot was far better than being taken. She had been a hairsbreadth from shooting out the man's kneecaps when she'd seen the letter ATF on his bulletproof vest. She had been held at the cordon and released once ATF has verified her identity. Now she followed Granger, Sam and Callen through the ATF bullpen. An agent was coming out of an interrogation room, coffee and files in hand. Callen led them towards the suited man.

"Agent Bauer," said Callen as they got close.

"Listen-," Agent Bauer started.

"Is he in there?" snapped Kensi.

"He's in the holding cell, with the other suspects," said a voice to one side. The quartet turned to find an Indonesian man in pin stripes.

"Agents, meet Section Chief Batu. Chief this is Agents Hanna, Callen..." Bauer stopped.

"Agent Kensi Blye."

"Assistant Director Owen Granger."

"NCIS," finished Bauer.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming in here after what you pulled," said Batu.

"What we pulled?" Kensi said.

"You almost blew more than a year's work by my best man. And for what, some two bit outfit," Bauer was looking very intently at his file.

"And you've probably blown our only chance to get in on a major drug smuggling organisation," Kensi replied.

Batu was getting ready to speak again when Granger stepped in. "Enough. Clearly we're not going to get anywhere here. Let's take this upstairs."

"What about Deeks?" Sam said.

Granger turned to Bauer. "Can you fish him out again?"

"He wanted me to throw him back. He thinks he can salvage it."

"Then we follow his lead. Agent Blye, Agent Callen, come with me. Agent Hanna keep an eye on Deeks, be ready to pull him out if there's trouble." Granger turned to Batu. "Can you have some men standing by?"

Batu paused for a moment, then turned to two of his men. "Cy, Fitz, show Agent Hanna the way, back him up." The two men nodded and led Sam in what was presumably the direction of the holding cell. She felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to see Granger.

"Let's go get him out of here." She allowed him to lead her away.

* * *

Assistant US Attorney Roberts rose as both agencies entered the conference room. He made a few notes as both sides told their respective stories. Then he said the words Kensi had feared. "I agree with Section Chief Batu. Your operation can't proceed in its current form and even if it could, I am not prepared to give away the best shot we've had at the Crows in the last decade, not on a maybe."

"But I also agreed with Assistant Director Granger. There is little to be gained by blowing your CIs cover. I'll have to talk to my superiors, but I think that what we'll do is charge everybody, including your CI under his assumed name. Then towards the end of pre-trials, if your investigation doesn't bear fruit, we offer your CI and his associates good plea deals in which they admit to weapons trafficking. But I'll have to inform the judge."

"Agreed," said Granger.

"Fine." said Batu.

Granger stood and offered his hand. Batu took it briefly, shook Roberts' hand, nodded to the others, and left, Bauer in tow.

"He's a decent guy, but this case was supposed to be the big break that got that office out from under the Stone cloud and give him a plus for the next promotion round. Now he's got a complication, and he has to deal with the people who he sees as having put him in his unenviable position."

"He should be thankful for the win."

"He will be, in a few days. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have court to prepare for."

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Deeks had been in a courtroom. On dozens of occasions over the years, he had been called to testify hidden behind a screen, or sometimes just to sit in the gallery and observe. Nor was it the first time where he hadn't had much sleep, though this time it was from a need to stay vigilant, rather than pre-trial nerves. It was his first time in the dock. The lawyers stood and introduced themselves to Judge Abernathy, the bailiff read the charges, then things got interesting.

"Your Honour, the government requests remand. The defendants are charged with crimes carrying a mandatory minimum of five years per count, totalling more than a hundred years in prison."

"Your Honour, the government is misrepresenting the charges, two of my clients are on their first offence and the other is on his second and therefore all are only eligible for a maximum ten year term. I request that my clients be released on their own recognizance." The judge harrumphed.

"Where I come from Your Honour ten years is still a lot of time to spend in prison. In our opinion the flight risk is considerable and furthermore, the defendants are accused of purchasing deadly weapons." That last part would probably have been effective in front of any other California judge. Deeks knew that Judge Abernathy was extremely gun-shy, in both senses, for fear of being overturned on appeal.

"Your Honour, the government is once again misrepresenting the charges, my clients are not accused of purchasing these weapons for their own use, only for commerce." No reasonable US attorney would exclude the possibility of use. "Furthermore, all my clients have strong ties to the community, all three own homes, and additionally, Mr Gentry owns his own business, a car wash in East LA." Deeks was just as surprised as the US attorney at that one, but he quickly suppressed it.

"Your Honour, the defendants are accused of serious crimes and represent a flight risk." This man must be incompetent; no prosecutor would let a criminal claim business ownership without proof, and a source of funds hearing. He was throwing the hearing. Deeks silently thanked Kensi.

"A flight risk for which the government has yet to provide evidence and crimes of which my clients are innocent until proven guilty."

The judge raised his hand. "Bail is set at $200,000.00 cash or bond." He banged his gavel down. "Next case."

As the sheriffs led Deeks out, he saw the AUSA smiling.

* * *

When Deeks walked out of central detention this time, Kensi and Bates weren't waiting for him. Instead, there was a man Deeks recognised from Rick's, who led him to a blue sedan down the street. The back window came down, revealing Thornhill.

Deeks leaned over the window. "A house and a business. You didn't have to do all that for me."

"We set it up after the thing with the sailors. You're one of my guys. As long as you're with us, we'll be with you."

"You said that."

"I meant it."

"Thank you." Deeks said quietly. He could see why Thornhill's people were so loyal, he appeared, and most likely was, willing to risk it all for them. Putting together a home and a business for every member of the organisation couldn't have been easy, or without risks.

"What happened?"

"ATF had an agent inside the Crows."

"Well, you put a human being in a plan and there will be a flaw. Don't worry too much about it. We have to be more careful about checking out the other guys better next time."

"Yes, sir." The man who had been waiting at the gate took a briefcase out of the trunk. Inside was $250,000.

"To complete your assignment." Deeks stood up. "And Mr Gentry."

"Yes."

"Fail again, and I will find someone more adequate for the task."

"I understand."

The car sped off.

Kensi was sitting in an SRX five rows from the gate. Deeks leaned in the driver side window. He placed his hand along the side of her jaw and pulled her lips to his. After a few minutes, they released each other and Deeks got into the back seat, lying across the seat so that he wouldn't be easily visible.

"His licence plate is AGRT6794." Kensi wrote the plate number on a note pad.

* * *

They drove in circles through the streets of Downtown Los Angeles for almost half an hour before stopping at an old-school diner. Kensi hopped out of the car

"Breakfast?" Deeks asked as he followed her.

"Something like that." She smiled.

Bauer, Sam, and Callen were gathered around a table in the corner.

"So, now what?" Sam asked after the waitress had refilled everyone's coffee.

"Well, I can probably scratch the most of the basics from my connections. But the more specialised items, like the grenade launchers and the rifles are going to be tricky. Everyone I know who has that sort of hardware is locked up." He turned to Agent Bauer. "What about you?"

"The Aryans are hoarding. They're worried about the Armenians trying to take their turf and also more generally about the obvious threats posed by non-WASPs to truth, justice and the American way." Bauer said. The last phrase dripped with contempt.

"If they're hoarding they're not going to be interested in selling to us," said Kensi.

"No, we're going to have to sell them something," said Deeks. "What are they looking for?"

"A rocket launcher." Agent Bauer said.

"A rocket launcher?" Kensi said.

"There's a time for a scalpel and a time for a hammer," said Deeks.

"Where on earth are we going to get a rocket launcher?" Kensi said.

"I know a guy who might be able to help with that," said Callen.

* * *

 **A/N: Once again, thank you to all those who have read and reviewed. It's deeply appreciated.**


	10. Arms Trade: Scavenger Hunt

**A/N: Just a heads up, this universe diverges immediately before the season 6 finale. So, the journey to Russia was more of a rescue mission than a stop the terrorists plot like it was in OTL. I reference it here and I didn't want to confuse people.**

* * *

Callen and Sam followed a suited man, with tattoos just poking out of his shirtsleeves onto Arkady's patio, "Arkady," said Callen in greeting.

"Callen. How are you? Did you miss me?"

"I'm glad your goons have stopped trying to keep us out."

"Is faster, what brings you to my home?"

"We need you to set up a meeting."

"What is in it for me?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What's in it for you?"

"I am businessman, is principal."

"Consider it repayment," said Sam, his frustration starting to show.

"Repayment?"

"The time you sent a goon to my house," said Callen.

"Or the time we rescued you from being drowned," said Sam

"Or flew to Russia to save your daughter," said Callen.

Arkady sighed. "What do you want?"

* * *

The three men crowded into one of Arkady's trucks. Callen could feel the toughness of the leather seating behind him. "If we search this car, what are we going to find?"

"Nothing."

"Arkady," Callen's voice lowered and he leaned forward.

"Nothing I cannot handle."

Callen thought that their ripples of their venture to the motherland were washing up on this side of the Pacific. Arkady had stood tall for them when the MVD had shown up after they rescued Anna.

"Who's giving you this trouble? Maybe we can help." Sam looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Callen kept his hand low and made a later gesture.

"Old comrade from the motherland. It is not a problem."

Callen shrugged. "While we're on the subject of the old country, what do you know about Tyodor Muscov?"

"He is big man in Russian mob. Everyone is Los Angeles answers to him," answered Arkady.

"Including you?" Sam said.

"I am not in the Bratva. I do not like tattoos."

"He have any enemies?"

"If anyone goes against him, he kills them, and their families, just to be sure."

"So that's a yes then."

"That is a yes."

Arkady pulled into an alley next to a scrap yard.

"We're not too close?" Sam asked.

"These guys are mobile, they think that is all the security you need."

"No lookouts, no cameras."

"They travel light and move quickly."

Then I think we'll be fine." Callen noted his friend's renewed focus on operational security. He was thankful for it, even agreed with it, but he couldn't help but be a little saddened by it.

The three men got out. Kensi and Deeks drove up a moment later.

"So, these guys are selling the rocket launcher,"

"Several. Apparently, they have a link to the factory."

"Okay, we tell them the truth, I want to buy a rocket launcher, why is not their concern."

Kensi stepped forward. "I'm coming in."

"Kensi-."

"My op, my lead." Deeks looked to Callen for support, who raised his hands, palms forward.

"You could try talking Detective to her," said Arkady.

It took Deeks a few seconds to put the pieces together "You saw that?

"Just stay away from severed pinkies."

"Let's go."

"Names?"

"Max Gentry," said Deeks.

Joanna Doyle," said Kensi.

"Who's Joanna Doyle?" Deeks asked.

"Just an alias I threw together, it's no big deal." Deeks' smile was rueful. "Let's go."

As Callen watched the Arkady lead the way, he had a feeling there was more to that story.

He felt Sam boring a hole in the back of his head. "What?"

"You really want to help Arkady take care of the competition?"

"He's a good informant."

"Good enough to risk jail for."

"I'm talking about taking Russian mobsters off the streets."

"Deeks would tell you that's how it starts."

* * *

The three men were all of caucuses extraction to Deeks and all had the look of men who had taken too much crystal meth. Arkady sure knew how to pick them.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

Deeks could see one of the men was carrying a nine mil, the barrel pointed directly at his penis. Amateur. But an amateur who could get his hands on a rocket launcher, a dangerous combination.

"Who're these two?"

"This is Max Gentry." The man's eyes widened slightly. It was so nice to be remembered. Deeks put on a front of barely restrained violence because it was important to keep up appearances. The fear on the men's faces had nothing to do with it.

"Who's the hottie?" Now the appearance reflected the reality. Deeks stepped forward, but Kensi beat him and Arkady to the punch, figuratively speaking.

"The hottie's name is none of your concern."

"Where's the rocket launcher?" Arkady said, attempting to cool tensions.

The gun dealers pulled a case from amongst the scrap metal and placed it on a conveniently placed barrel.

"Show us the money." Deeks half pulled the bundle of bills from his jacket. The tweaker armorer opened the case.

Kensi stepped forward and picked up the rocket launcher. "An AT-4 CS anti-tank shoulder launched recoilless munitions systems with 84-mm unguided rounds and a range of 300 meters."

The gun dealers nodded. "You happy?"

Deeks looked at Kensi, who nodded as she placed the rocket launcher back in the case. He turned to the dealer. "We're happy." He pulled the cash from his jacket and kept his other hand behind his back, close to his service weapons. He could feel as much as see Kensi, Arkady and the dealers tense up. If anybody was going to screw anybody, now was the time.

One dealer took the cash bundle as the other took his hand off the case. Kensi hefted the weapon and everybody slowly backed away from one another. Arkady led them out a door that conveniently meant no one had to turn their backs on anyone else.

It was only when they reached the alleyway that Deeks relaxed.

"You called Mitchell and Thompson?" Kensi asked.

"They're around the corner," said Callen.

Arkady turned sharply to Callen. "You did not tell me they would be arrested."

Callen shrugged. "They won't be, until we find their link to the supplier. Don't worry, there'll be no connection to you."

"You did not tell me."

"They're criminals," said Sam. "Catching them is what we do."

Arkady pressed his lips together. "This is me done?"

"It is."

"Then good day to you." Arkady got into his car and drove off.

Bauer turned to Sam and Callen. "Wasn't he your ride?"

"Yeah, he was," said Sam.

* * *

Rather than retrieving the Challenger from Arkady's house the group drove in the SRX to a garment factory in Vernon.

"You sure it's a good idea for him to come in here." said Bauer, looking at Sam.

"Aside from Kensi, there's no one I'd rather have watching my back," said Deeks.

"You know I'm sitting right here," said Callen.

"You're number three on my list."

"And Nell?" Kensi asked.

"I was trying to be nice and I'm just feeling so attacked right now."

"How about we get on with the job," said Sam. The team and Bauer got out of the car and headed toward the building.

At the door, they were met by two Aryans, one almost six feet tall, whose job was to deal with trouble and a smaller guy to take care of everything else. "Hands up." The smaller proceeded to give each of them a full pat down.

"Enjoying yourself there pal," said Callen as the man rose up.

"Oh, you're a comedian."

When the smaller man got to Kensi's mid-thigh and made a smirk as he proceeded higher, Deeks punched him in the face. The man tried to leap up and draw a pistol from behind his back, but Bauer kicked him in the face and then placed his boot on the man's chest. "Steady on there, Tinkerbell."

The downed man's compatriot looked at his friend, then at the five people standing in front of him. "Fair enough."

"I'll stay out here," said Bauer. "Make sure princess doesn't try anything else stupid."

Deeks led the way into the building. There were nine Aryans in the room.

"Max Gentry, your reputation precedes you."

"As a cultured man of taste?"

"As a man who sucks the good luck out of people."

"I can't help it if the LAPD is good at their job. Now show me the money."

"Perhaps we should just take the rocket launcher and keep the money."

Deeks smiled. Then he punched mighty whitey in the face. The man went down. One of the Aryans tackled him and the pair hit the floor. Deeks rolled in the racist's grip and brought his elbow into the man's side, causing him to release his hold. Deeks rolled and came to his feet. The Aryan tried to do the same, but Deeks didn't hesitate to kick him in the stomach. The white supremacist, whilst mentally flawed by definition, was not stupid enough to try to rise again.

Sam grabbed the wrist of a man as he raised up a pistol, twisted his arm out of the way, and broke the man's elbow with a palm strike before kicking the back of his knee to bring him down. He turned and brought the heel of his hand down on another man's face, shattering his nose. Another knee kick had the man on the floor as well.

Callen grabbed one Aryan and threw him against a massive sewing machine. Another Aryan grabbed him from behind. Callen pushed backwards until they slammed into the wall. This caused the second Aryan to loosen his grip and Callen reverse head-butted him. Callen broke the hold completely and brought the man's head down onto his knee. The first Aryan had recovered partially, so Callen put him down with a right cross.

Kensi punched one man in the throat before head-butting another. The ninth man raised his sub-machine gun. Kensi grabbed the .22 she had concealed in the front of her belt and shot him in the knee. The man fell, clutching his leg in pain.

"You are all under arrest," said Callen. The white supremacists just lay there groaning.

Sam looked down at the Aryans, a satisfied look on his face. "Well guys, thanks for being you."

The team walked outside to find Bauer standing over the larger Aryan. "All done?"

A quick search of the building led the team to a lift which took them down to the basement. There was almost everything Thornhill asked for, including the grenade launchers.

"This is what winning feels like, isn't it," said Bauer.

* * *

It took about an hour to load the trucks and spray everything with Overwatch. Then another two hours to contact Partridge a drop the weapons at the safehouse. Thirty minutes after that Sam and Callen were walking by, pushing a pram loaded with a porcelain doll and a pair of M4s, and placed a camera on a fence opposite the door.

Now Deeks was back in the Old Haunt, sitting across a booth from Ernest Thornhill.

"I heard you did good today," said Thornhill, after the waitress had deposited their beers.

"I do what I can for the good of the Company.

"Not that I'm opposed to racists getting the shit kicked out of them, but what's this I hear about the Aryans getting taken for 100 grand worth of firearms."

"Like you said, you're not opposed to racists having the shit kicked out of them. And I have the weapons you wanted."

"We don't need them coming back on us."

"They won't today, probably not tomorrow or the day after." Objectively true, and it helped if Thornhill thought Max short-sighted.

"But they will one day. Look at the whole board, Max."

"In the meantime, you have what you wanted."

Thornhill snorted. "Well, one step at a time."

* * *

 **A/N: Team work makes the dream work.**

 **Regarding Joanna Doyle, there really is more to that story, it's called Dead But Not Forgotten by tobinfic on ffnet a.k.a fringedweller over on A03.**

 **I realised writing this that Gentry is such a great name for mid-level criminal. Someone on the writing staff is clever.**

 **As always, please leave your reviews, even if it's just a smiley face. They really are what sustains me.**


End file.
